


The Nation Without A Name

by SuFin_is_canon12



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Derogatory Language, Mild Language, Pregnancy, Romance, Sexual Harassment, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuFin_is_canon12/pseuds/SuFin_is_canon12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England is minding his own business when all of a sudden spain is reaching for a brand new land and both countries (and France) are competing for the love of a beautiful woman. Crack history. Uk/America pairing, not US also chibi america and canada. US makes an apperance near the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this before on fan fiction, and then I lost the internet on my computer, and all I have on my phone is the reader, and I can't post through the reader, then an awesome friend told me about Ao3, and it was all of a sudden like, yay! God loves me again! (^-^).

It was just after six in the morning and England was making his famous scones, make that infamous he pouted. He was upset that no one else liked his scones. At least he could take comfort in the fact that one off his older brothers, Scotland, had worse food than him. Speaking of Scotland, England was still upset with him. Oh well if he wanted to hang out with that damn frog instead of him, that was his business. But seriously none of his brothers wanted him around. Wales never said so but England got the feeling that England hated him, and Southern Ireland was still mad at him for his occupation of him and his twin Northern Ireland. North never disagreed with his more volatile brother except in the execution of the plans, and usually he was right. God help them if he ever decided to take over the world. All this however was old news, no something much more serious was happening. He couldn't find a nightly cuddle buddy. Ever since he could remember, he had to have someone to sleep with, at first it was big brother North but that ended about the time he got his first whiskers. That next birthday big brother Scotland took him to his first brothel, and introduced him to the wonders of a woman's touch, and England was hooked. From there the young country was set down a dark path of temptation and debauchery until he set sail under the jolly Roger as Arthur Kirkland. His brother Wales was the one to put a stop to it. That one act of brotherly love is why England had a hard time believing that Wales hated him completely.

A knock at the door brought him from his somewhat dark thoughts. Wondering who on earth could be calling at this hour he opened the door. A man stood on the doorstep. The stranger handed him a letter and promptly turned back, hopped onto his horse and rode off. Turning back as he shut the door to his two story Victorian town house, England walked to his writing desk. He broke the seal and seeing the queen's handwriting, sighed and girded his loins for whatever his queen had in mind for him, he just knew that he wouldn't like it in the least.

Dear Arthur Kirkland,  
I pray that this letter finds you alive and well, and if it doesn't, oh well, it is time for you to get up out of the grave anyways you'll never guess what the Spanish bitch, um, I mean Queen Isabella, sent me. A letter stating, and I quote. 'Don't worry that you are Queen of the smallest nation in the world, however you are about to become a whole lot smaller, for I have a citizen who sailed for me and claimed the new land for me. He said that he used to be an Englishman, but wished to be Spanish instead.' Ooh she is the biggest bitch I have ever been unfortunate enough to meet. Oh well, your mission is to go and fight the damn Spanish for this new commonwealth of Britain.  
sincerely your queen,  
Elizabeth Tudor  
P.S.  
In case you were unaware, this is an order, and ignored at your own peril.

England sighed once more as he finished reading the missive, and set it down. Well that's that then, the Queens had been at war mentally if not physically since that nasty business with pirates. If his Queen wished him to go up against the little tomato, well he had no choice. Personally he was feeling a little tired of bickering with the others and thinking of going into isolation. It didn't matter now. He quickly penned off a letter and before he folded and sealed it, he proofread the letter, liking what he read he sealed it and rushed off to pack for what would likely be a terribly long war.


	2. Chapter 2

Canté wasteé wi watched the strange beings as they walked around the  
just as strange lodges. From her viewpoint, these people wouldn't last  
the coming winter, except that she had a feeling that the pale ones  
coming would be a good thing as well as a bad one. How that would work  
confused her, how could something be both good and bad? At last her  
ears picked up the fake bird calling. Running Bull, the son of the chieftain  
Wahunsunacock was signaling. She let out a fake signal as well. They would  
meet back in camp. A slight rustling sound was the only clue that  
strong horse was ever there. Canté wasteé wi was about to head back  
herself, when she felt an abnormal presence. Strange, she only got  
this feeling when the other nations visited. However this nation was  
foreign. Neither friend, nor foe. Worse, the presence was coming  
from the pale ones.

Back at camp the chieftain, his advisors and his son were already  
seated in a circle around the edges of the lodge. As Canté entered,  
she bowed her head down in deference to the man who sat directly  
opposite the flaps, and proceeded to her seat on the other side of  
him, between Wahunsunacock and Running Bull. She greatly disliked this  
particular honor, as it gave the impression that she belonged to at  
least one of the men on either side of her. She however didn't voice  
her opinions. To do so would get her banished, even if she had a  
deeper connection to the tribe than the others, after all she  
discovered that she didn't need to eat if the seasons were kind to the  
tribe, however she could still feel hunger, especially if the winter  
moons were harsh or the elk scarce. She had also discovered in time  
that her old friends grew older, while she stayed at about twenty  
winters. The friends that gave off a presence when they entered her  
territory, just like the unfamiliar sensation earlier at the pale ones  
camp.

"Canté wasteé wi." the deep timbre of Wahunsunacock's voice sliced through  
her thoughts like an arrow through a fresh kill.  
"Yes chieftain?" Canté asked uncertainly.  
"Tell me, what are your thoughts of these pale faced strangers?"  
"My mind tells me that they will not stay, for they were not dressed  
for food gathering. The males dress to brightly to hunt, and the  
females wear fabric too long to gather and farm. However my heart says  
that the pale ones have a place and purpose for many winters to come,  
for good and bad." She answered honestly. Wahunsunacock sighed, deeply  
disturbed.  
"I have had the same feelings, although mine held more doom."


	3. Chapter 3

England could've sworn that someone or something was watching him. It almost felt like . . .  
"Come out of there, you damn frog!" The Frenchman stepped out from behind the barrel.  
"You caught me angelterre" he said with a sigh." England exploded with rage.  
"What the hell are you doing here!" He demanded of the perverted country.  
"You're so mean. And after I came all this way to help you with Spain." The other country pouted. "Well see if I care. You black sheep of Europe!" He shouted angrily.  
"I don't care either! Go back to that bloody piece of crap you call a country!" England would be very happy if France would go back. The dumb git was a pain in England's arse since his birth. Just as he turned back to enter his settlement, he felt a new presence. Not France. That arse was present and accounted for. No this was something, someone else. At first he thought that Spain had shown up as well, but the presence wasn't from Spain at all. He'd never felt this country before. Almost strange, but comforting, all at once. As if he somehow knew this other nation.

"Hon hon hon!" France chuckled evilly. "Hello new French territory." England suddenly felt very afraid for the unknown nation. France had the creeper grin on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Canté wasteé wi was crouching as she spied on the two pale ones arguing. One had long hair compared to the other; however it was still short in the way of her people. The two males both had yellow hair. They both gave her the same yet completely different spoke in a language that she could understand, but the words confused her. Suddenly the long hair said something in the strange language that she didn't hear; long hair however scared her with his wife evil smile. Short hair looked scared too, and they were both looking in her direction!

She got up and ran, she didn't care if they knew that she was there, besides, they seemed to have found her out on their own anyways. England was surprised when a beautiful woman with long black hair and wide brown eyes got up and ran as fast as she could away from the two countries. France recovered first

"Well, this land just got a little bit more interesting, qui?" Damn! Not only would he have to fight France and Spain for the land, he'd have to fight with France for the native beauty.

"You are not staying here you damn frog!" England exclaimed with a shocked voice.

"Why on earth would I ever stay here!?" The Frenchman asked with an incredulous look. "I would never stay here. It is way too tacky for someone as beautiful as moi." Bloody arse! Deliberately misunderstanding him!

"No you stupid git! I mean that you cannot stay in this land!" At this point England was ready for a fight


	5. Chapter 5

As Canté ran she lost track of where she was going, all she knew was that she had to get away from the two yellow hairs and the mysterious way that they seemed to know where exactly she had hidden herself. On she ran blindly through the forest she called her home. It seemed that the pale ones followed her still, but she dared not look back for fear of being right.

"Damn you black sheep of Europe! Because of you, she got away!" The sound of swords clashing filled the air as France blamed the nation in front of him.

"Bugger off frog! Don't you dare pin this on me!" England shouted back. "You're the one who scared her." Just then France feinted to the right. England, however, saw this in time and parried. The maneuver was too much for the other country as his sword flew from his grasp to land point down in the soil. "Leave my settlement now and never return!" Hopefully that would keep the Frenchman from harassing the mysterious woman who ran like a frightened doe. It might have worked too if the other nation wasn't anxious for new territories.

"I'll leave your land but not my own." Said France as he got up. "Now if you'll excuse me, c'est la ve." Waving as he walked away. England waited until France was out of sight, then went tearing after the beautiful woman.

Hours later, Canté had chosen well for her hiding place, as she sat in an abandoned bear cave. She had even managed to make it look like it was still occupied. Although, she thought, the yellow hairs still knew that she was there in the bushes earlier. Besides they might not even know what a bear was. All of a sudden, she heard footsteps outside the cave.

England knew for a fact that the nation was in the cave. He could tell by the sensation that nations gave off. It was something only other nations could sense. However he couldn't tell if animals were nearby, and those tracks looked really recent. He could tell by the tracks that the animal was huge, huge with big claws. He just had to wait until the girl came out of the cave. Now he just needed to wait somewhere safe from the monstrous beast. Although he couldn't be sure. It could just as easily be Russia. In any case England decided to climb a tree. He hoped that it was a beast and not Russia. After all, an animal that big would never be able to get off the ground, he reasoned as he settled into the branch that he chose to perch on. Either way, it was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

Canté knew that one of the yellow hairs was still out there, he had not moved since the night before when he left for a bit, and came back with food. Then he resumed his post. She knew what he was doing. He wanted her to come out, it was a tactic seen often enough with the animals, and her own people. This time however, she was the prey. England wasn't having a very good time of it. His buttocks hurt, and he was cold. At least it wasn't raining. The food that he'd brought from the settlement was resting in front of the cave. She hadn't come out. Not even to investigate the corned beef. His food was bad, surely not that bad! It was still edible. This reminded him of the times when he played hide and seek with his brothers. He still said that his brothers cheated by hiding behind their borders. He'd forgotten how dull those times were.  
"You might as well come out. I'm not going to hurt you." She was surprised that he would even speak during this game of snake and mouse.  
"How can I be sure of that?" She called in a shaky voice.  
"You can be sure, because I wasn't sure if following you inside would've frightened you off more."  
"I thought that the reason was the bear tracks I faked"  
"That was you?" England said with a laugh. "I will admit that it was also a reason for why I'm in a tree." Canté found that this yellow hair had a nice laugh. Then she realized that she didn't know his name.  
"What is your name?" When she was done asking the question, he gasped.  
"Where are my manners? My true name is England, although the humans know me as Arthur Kirkland."  
"Humans?"  
"The people, I am the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. However if the humans knew that, they wouldn't be able to comprehend it and their minds would stop from the stress. It's been known to happen before."  
"My people haven't died from knowing of my existence." She said, with no small amount of pride.  
"Do they know that you personify their country?" Her confidence faltered a bit.  
"No. They just know that I am immortal. But I know that you are the personification of England, and my mind hasn't given up."  
"That's because you aren't a human, you're a personification." England said simply. Silence followed his words. What was she doing? He thought to himself. Back in the cave, Canté was also thinking. Musing over all that England had shared with her. When she had finished, she decided to trust him to an extent. When she stepped foot out of the cave, he gasped again.

"Beautiful." He said under his breath. Her black hair straight and long glistened in the sun. Her eyes were a brown deeper than chocolate. She wore a dress made of leather with fringes. It actually looked good on her. Her head was tilted up just a tad, giving her an aristocratic look. She had mud on her face, but he thought that her beauty still shone through the muck. He was so transfixed with her, that he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. Until, that is, he was falling through space before his body connected with the ground and he lost consciousness


	7. Chapter 7

Damn that bloody well hurt! Opening his eyes, England stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was pointed and had a small blue dot in the middle. Anxious, he sat up quickly, groaning as he did so.  
"Oh! You're up already." A familiar voice spoke. He turned his head to face the speaker. It was her. She had washed the mud off of her face. Now he was closer to her, nothing was blocking her beauty, no stranger to women, England fond to his surprise that he couldn't speak; all he could do was stare. Finally she cocked her head to the side.  
"Are you feeling okay? Although I don't blame you. I wouldn't be able to even move for a couple hours more than you if I had the fall you did yesterday." She turned back to the small fire in the middle of the room, which was in the shape of a cone.  
"Where am I? He asked, finally finding his voice.  
"You are in my home, on the edges of my camp." She was cooking fish in the fire. It seemed a cozy scene between the two of them. Then he realized.  
"I don't know your name." He stated dumbly. She looked surprised by that.  
"Oh that's right! I forgot about it in all of the excitement." She smiled then. "My name is Canté wasteé wi. It means 'good natured woman."  
"What about your real name?" The confusion on her face was really apparent, and so adorable that he wanted to kiss her.  
"That is my real name." Despite the pain, he chuckled.  
"No I meant the name of your land, your nation."  
"My people are called the Powhatan, and the land is called Tsenacommacah. Many other tribes live in Tsenacommacah." The one known as England's brows drew closer together, making it look like he had only one brow across his head. She looked closer at his face. Very nice looking, she decided. The eyebrows where big and bushy, reminding her of a bear, but that and his behavior with the long hair, were the only things that did. His eyes were green like the sun shining on the grass, and he carried himself like a chieftain. He was frowning, but the lines around his eyes told her that he smiled a lot. His face was very masculine just like his lips. Those lips which gave her the strangest urge to kiss them.  
"Well then Canté wasteé wi was it?" Said England, startling her. She was sure that she was blushing.  
"Ah . . . yes, but you can call me Canté." She stumbled.  
"That sounds like Kathy in English." He smiled, and her heart stumbled. She could only nod. "Canté, would you like to spend tomorrow with me?" When she nodded again and smiled, it was his turn for his heart to stumble.


	8. Chapter 8

She agreed! England was ecstatic. Canté, or Kathy, as he would call her in front of his countrymen, had agreed to spend the whole day with him and only him! He was so happy, that he floated all the way back to his settlement. The feeling continued until one of his subordinates tapped on his shoulder.

"Sorry to bother you sir, but we've received word from a Francis Bonnefoy. The Frenchy who brought it, said that it was important." He said as he handed the rectangle of paper and ink to England. With a sinking feeling, England tore open the message. Written in France's flowing script was one line.

Meet me at dawntomorrow, prepare for battle.

Damn him! England was mad that the pompous arse would do this. However it was a simple matter to pen his own missive to the frog.

There was a knock at the door. They opened it to find a short man. Holding up a hand. Presumably waiting for the other nation's reply.

"Here, this is for your general." England said as he shoved the response into his hand. "Now go, before I have you shot for trespassing. Growling the last bit. The midget frog saluted smartly, and promptly turned around.

Later that night, the figure in front of the fire shook in rage. The other two in the room trembled with fear. The trio had been friends for as long as they could remember. With a couple of differences over the years, but then again, what friends didn't fight occasionally? However, the other two had never seen their friend this angry.

"VERDAMMIT! VEN IZ ZE AWESOME ME GOING TO FIGHT! WE CAME HERE FOR A VAR, JA?" The albino exploded finally. Making the other two flinch visibly.

"Now now, Prussia, chu'll get chor chance amigo. We just need to wait until France sees Una Bonita again. Then he will have the girl, you will have your fight, and I will have the land. It's a win, win, and a win mi amigo!" The Spanish man finished cheerfully. The Prussian considered his tanner companion for a second, before sighing.

"Perhaps you are right Mein Freund." He agreed. While the only other person in the room sighed with relief, as he glanced down at the parchment that nearly tore apart their carefully laid plans, like a cat tore through a mouse. Reading the short phrase.

Sorry frog, but I have plans fortomorrow.  
England

He would just have to play the simpering fool a bit longer. He thought in disgust, as he tossed the letter into the fire. Effectively destroying the words. Forever.


	9. Chapter 9

England was nervous as he walked towards the meeting place. He desperately wanted her to be there, while also desperately wishing that she wasn't, so he wouldn't have to make the complete fool of himself that he was sure to be. He ran back to his settlement the night before to make sure that he was properly groomed and ready for their outing, he refused to call it a date, (even in his own mind) blushing for a moment before pushing the thought away. He was dressed in. Nice trousers, not his best, but nice enough for a filthy stinking savage. He paused, Where the bloody hell did that thought come from!? It wasn't like he loved the chit, but he was at least respectful of people in general, and women in particular. He continued with his musings until his foot decided to cool off into a puddle. He gave a sigh. Maybe he was just unlucky today.

"Arthur?" Someone called from behind him with a sweet voice. He turned to face her with a huge grin.

"Canté! How are you today?" She gave him a halfhearted smile.

"That is my question for you. You seemed to be deep in thought." Canté tilted her head to the side and said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "Am I really so horrendous?" Causing the paler nation to sputter, with an extremely red face.

"Wha. . . . What's tha. . . . I mean,. . . .OF COURSE NOT!" His already red face turning an even deeper shade of crimson. 'cute' she thought as she turned away to hide her smile. Peeking back, she coyly asked him if he was coming or not. Those bushy eyebrows of his lifted, as his face became even redder, if that were even possible, and without a word, followed the raven haired enchantress.

She showed him many wondrous things like the wolf not howling to the rock in the sky, but the brother in fur crying to the harvest moon, and the grinning bobcat. She helped him to hear the mountains sing, and beautiful masterpieces in the wind. It made him think about how all the animals and people were connected to each other, and ashamed of how his people were treating the earth, how they were treating it still!

"Canté," England began, but before he could continue, she cut him off with a finger.

"Arthur, I realize that we have known each other for a few days, but I want to say that, I have never felt this way around another person, or even another nation." She smiled ruefully. "And I would like to tell you tha-" She rambled on before he interrupted.

"Canté, I feel the same way." His hands slid up to her shoulders to pull her closer to his lips. Her arms came up around his neck as she willingly leaned into him. They should have known that the perfect moment wouldn't last.

"Well izn't zis a cozy scene?" A disgustingly honeyed voice purred behind them. Heaving a sigh of suffering, and sending up a prayer for patience, England turned to face the damned frog.

"What the bloody hell do you want wanker?" He growled as his hand reached for the sword and pistol at his side. That's when he heard Canté scream. Turning to face whoever dared to bother his love, he saw a flash of red eyes, white hair, and tan skin, along with the terror stricken face of his beloved. Then nothing but blackness as Canté called out for him.

Fear crossed Canté's heart when the blonde stranger hit Arthur, hard, on the back of his head with a giant branch. He then spat on England after he went down.

"Zat waz for being a 'eartless beast!" The other then kicked the unconscious man in his side. "Zat was for siccing your dirty little pirates on my beautiful, yet masculine person." He then slapped the one on the ground. "And Zat waz for calling me 'urtful names, Angelterre." He finished weeping. Canté could feel the frustration rolling off of the men holding her still. The one that had his hands over her mouth after she screamed, but she had quickly bit him, so he dropped his hand as if she had burned him, called out to the conscious blonde.

"Yo francy pants! The awesome us has the less awesome chick. Ve should go before the dude, who is as unawesome as I am awesome, vakes up. He could go pirate again." Clearly this one thought way too highly of himself, it made her happy to think of bringing him down a notch. The other man behind her added his voice to the discussion.

"Si mi amigos. I can fight well, but even I can't guard against Britain's pirate self." The blonde gave a patient sigh, as though he was dealing with children.

"Fine, but first, I need water. All this drama iz making moi throat sore and dry." As he walked off, away from the group. Canté felt the anger boil up inside her like a poison, as she imagined the three of them having their throats rippled out by a hungry brother wolf. The thought made her smile and giggle a little as her eyes betrayed her hurt and anger. When the white haired one passed by, he noticed her expression, and shudder as he called out to 'Francy pants'

"You sure you don't vant a different broad? This one creeps me out and reminds me of Russia!" Whoever this Russia was, she wanted to meet him. Maybe they could strike a truce.


	10. Chapter 10

"Son of a Damned frog-bitch!" England swore when he sat up. The last thing he could remember was Canté calling his name as she was dragged away by . . . . The god-damned Bad Touch Trio! Fuck. His. Life! He couldn't even have one full day of bliss before that bloody frog had to have it too! Well fuck him. This time, the fucking git had pushed him too far. This time the hundred years war would seem like a needle jabbing, compared to the smack down that England was going to give him! That's when he noticed a dagger sticking out of the sycamore, that Canté had told him about, pinning a little sheet of paper. Groaning, he got to his feet, and rippled the paper from the tree and dagger. Frowning, he read the note.

Angeterre,  
By the time you read this, I will be at my camp making preparations for the war. Do not bother looking for the belle, for she will have fallen for me by now. Who can resist this face for long, when it is filled with such love, or lust anyways. No the battle for the woman is over, and I've already won that, the battle for the land is beginning. See you later Angeterre ;) XOXOXO

Finished reading, he crumpled the note. That was it! No more pretending to be a damned landlubber! The damned frog was getting a one way passage ta Davy Jones locker if he had to drown him his self! No one messed with the pirate Arthur Kirkland, and kidnapping his wench, and coldcocking him in the process? Well, if they had anyone to care about 'em, which he highly doubted, it'd be really hard for them to be identified.

"'Ello new French territory." The one known as France purred, circling her the same way brother eagle circles around his prey. However, unlike the mouse, she was not scared. She would not be intimidated by this unloyal dog. The Frenchman continued speaking to her in that horrendously ridiculous accent. "Now zat I 'ave rescued you from ze beast, you can begin to shower me with your adoration." Canté just rolled her eyes. 'He thinks pretty well of himself, for a randy, know-it-all, jackass.' She thought derisively.

"Give it a rest francy-pants. She vill never tell you anyzing. Locked her lips up tighter zan Austria's legs at Britain's Belfast Festival." The slightly less annoying one, but still extremely annoying stated loudly.

"Si, mi amigo. Chica doesn't seem to enjoy your attentions." The happy-go-lucky one interjected. This one reminded her of a rabbit.

"Perhaps you are right Mon Ami." Francy-pants said with a sigh. "After all," he continued with a smirk. "Rome wasn't built in a day. She is obviously intimidated by my beauty. Zere is no reason for you to reject my advances mon petite amour." Placing his fingers under her chin, lifting it, as he brought their faces closer.

Canté merely lifted an eyebrow. "No matter how the robin preens and croons to the robiness, but she will still choose the better mate." She returned coolly.

"Oui." The most annoying one smiled as he said so. "So why are you fighting me mon amour?"

"Because, MISTER ROBIN," she said with as much venom as she could muster. "You are not the best mate." Which caused the other two to snicker, well one snickered, the other one just chuckled good-naturedly.

"Kesesesese. Zhe zhowed you mein freund." The snickering albino commented. "Of course, you're not az awezome as me." He finished, snickering harder.

"What does awesome mean?" Canté asked curious.

"Vas!?" Annoying one screeched. "You don't know vhat awezome meanz?! The awezome Gilbert vill now teach you." And proceeded into an hours long lecture on the word awesome, how awesome was awesome, how awesome he was, and how utterly unawesome she was for not knowing what awesome was.

"But I zuppoze zat you can't be blamed for zat, after all, I'm the only awezome you know." He finished.

'Thank the creator!' Canté thought desperately hoping that he wouldn't start talking about awesome he was again. He only looked at her, as if waiting for something.

"Vell?" He questioned, "Do you get the awezomenezz now?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Awesome means awe-inspiring, and therefore bringing awe to those who look at the awesome thing, however you take the word to mean both awe-inspiring, and great."

"Right, Kesesesese." He grinned before she continued.

"However, I fail to see how you are awesome. You not only look like a white demon, but laugh like a snake, and behave like a brute. Nothing in your behavior, demeanor, or looks, inspires the least bit of awe in my eyes." She saw the rage in his eyes when she finished her rant.

"I'm goink to rip your hair right out of your unawezome head, und cut you open und ztuff it in place of your lungz, vhile I zhove your lungz down your zroat." He growled, stepping forward, just as the rabbit stopped him.

"Calm down mi amigo. She is probably sleepy and cranky no?" He said as cheerfully as ever. Then he turned to Canté. "Perhaps chica needs some hug therapy?" He asked as he glomped her from the front.

The movement was so sudden, that she couldn't do anything to prevent it, only try to fight him off. She wasn't thinking, only reacting as her knee came up swiftly, right in-between his legs.  
He went down. When he looked up again, she shivered, for gone was the cheerful rabbit, leaving in his place, a hungry wolf.

When he spoke Canté noticed that even, his voice was deeper, darker, sending more shivers up her spine. "That wasn't very nice chica. Now I'll have to make you pay, or my name isn't Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." His voice barely above a whisper, but it still caused her to flinch. As three pairs of hands reached steadily for her.


	11. Chapter 11

'Well,' Canté thought ruefully, 'at least Prussia hasn't carried out his threat. On second thought, maybe he did, and I just took it literally.' The three nations certainly tugged at her hair often enough, trying to remake her in the fashion of their individual countries. Her hair had been pulled so hard that she began to believe that her hair might have been pulled from scalp after all, only to be proven wrong, after being forced to sit still for an inordinate of time, when the others began pulling on her hair again.  
She was also stuffed into several dresses, most of which suffocated her, making it seem as if her lungs did indeed move to her throat, as the only way to breathe was in short, gasping breaths. She thanked the creator that she hadn't had to suffer those dresses long.  
Now she was looking at the product of her suffering, three oil paintings, almost like drawings in the clay, but in color, and on a type of paper called canvas.  
The first two were simple, the first one had her wearing a somewhat comfortable dress, with a many layered skirt. Her hair pulled to the side in a comparatively loose bun, held in place by a small decorative hair comb. Red. The only color was red, a deep, dark red all over, as if she was in a particularly bloody battle. Even the bright red flower that adorned the comb, did nothing against the inky blackness of her hair. A large drop of blood in the night  
Canté paused in her perusal of the portraits to shiver lightly. Then turned her gaze to the next. The skirt was so large, that she wondered briefly how the women wandered about, especially considering the narrow doors the pale ones were fond of. Not that all of them were that pale, she mused briefly, thinking of Spain. The corset was wrapped around her waist so tightly, Canté had wondered if she'd ever be able to breathe again while wearing the contraption. These people were so weird, over covering the legs in skirts so heavy, that she wouldn't've been able to run if she even if she had an opportunity to do so. The breasts were nearly uncovered, making her blush horrendously. The colors were too bright, hurting her eyes.  
The final one, it showed multiple versions of her, in what she supposed was a mimicry of the passage of time. The movement started with her in what France called an empire gown with her hair piled in curls on top of her head, in the doorway, then onward as she began undressing herself a little more at each stop, until she ended up lounging on the futon, in a soft, smooth lavender version of her pelts, and her hair falling about her in a curly wave. The one thing that all three paintings had in common, besides the European dressings, was the fact that her face portrayed the exact same bored expression.  
"Beautiful non?" France spoke up after awhile.  
"I suppose that in their own way, one could call them such, however, they all lack a certain quality."  
"Oh?" France raised an eyebrow as he continued, "And what quality would you say that is?" He questioned.  
"Freedom." 

England was currently crouching down in the bushes that surrounded the frog's three story mansion. 'Only that damned frog would call this a camp!' He grumbled to himself as he stuck his head up out of the bushes. Seeing nothing, he ducked back under and crawled another ten feet, and repeated the process.  
Just as he neared the front of the monstrous house, his head rammed hard against a big black boot.  
"Vell, vell if it izn't mein gud freund, England." A cold, mocking tone coloring the voice of a sworn enemy.  
'Well, fuck me bloody six ways to Sunday.' England thought snidely to himself as he glared up at the white haired nation.  
"Why if it ain't me old enemy Prussia. Wha's wrong matey? Yer friends give you some time off to yerself befere they kill yer sorry arse?" England just couldn't bring himself to regret those words, even as Prussia's boot stomped down hard on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIGHT!FIGHT!FIGHT!FIGHT!  
> England: The bloody hell! Are you trying to get me bloody killed!  
> ME: Just adding a little excitement for the readers.  
> England: Get me the fuck out of there you bloody wanker!  
> ME: Just for that, I'm adding someone.


End file.
